


Brio

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [157]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 21:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6167020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>brio: noun: brē-(ˌ)ō: vigor or vivacity of style or performance</p>
<p>From Italian brio (liveliness), from Spanish brio (spirit), from Celtic brigos (strength). Earliest documented use: 1731.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brio

Gingerly, he opened the fridge, hoping for just a spot of milk for his tea, but didn't hold his-

"Sher-LOCK!!! You promised...no more heads in the fridge! I swear..."

"Never mind, John, we have a case! At least an 8. Oh, sorry, love, the freezer in 221 C is full...have to clean...oh come on, John...please..."

John shook his head and drank down his very cold, very bitter tea.

 

It never ceased to amaze him how much he could forgive Sherlock for once they arrived at a crime scene; he could be simmering over the ruined jumper that his grandmother had knitted for him, the mysterious odours that often greeted him as he entered their flat, or like this particular morning, a persistent lack of milk and yes, the head that was there in its place. But once they exited the cab, and Sherlock fairly glided through the scene with his usual brio and grace, his heart would flip.

"John! I need you-"

"Coming!"

Once his examination was complete, he could stand back and watch. No matter how many times he observed Sherlock take apart a crime scene, it still astonished him. He saw the absolute joy that radiated from his eyes, and for him, it was a not so subtle form of foreplay. And, naturally, the brilliant arse knew it all too well. Some days, like this one, brought harder cases, so their time on the scene was prolonged. John would catch a glimpse of Sherlock kneeling next to the body, then suddenly feel the detective's eyes twinkle at him, which almost forced him to his knees, then Sherlock's complete attention returned to the mangled corpse in front of him, as if nothing had happened. Today, the torture lasted most of the day, and into the evening; eventually Sherlock sent him home, knowing he had a shift the next morning. John sighed and nodded, hungry, exhausted and frustrated; mostly exhausted, and lonely. 

At three in the morning, John felt Sherlock's presence in their bed, long arms wrapped around him, lips nuzzled his shoulder. 

"I'm sorry, John. I needed that one last bit to break it wide open, just took me forever. I've missed you."

"Me too, love."

"I bought milk, binned the head, and the other-:"

"Other? Do I want to know?"

"Best not. I did have a shower too..."

"Oh yeah...?"

"Uh-hmmmmmm..."

"Oh, dammmmmmmmnnnnnit...."

(And yes, the make-up sex was just as extraordinary as you might have guessed.)

 

;


End file.
